


Wixflix and Chill 2: Back for Good

by zalil



Series: Wixflix and Chill [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Harry and Severus fighting, M/M, Snogging, coffee gets left behind, wizards in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28028541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zalil/pseuds/zalil
Summary: Harry and Severus finally have that talk about their relationship. But they're not very good at talking, their communication is far better when it's more... physical.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Series: Wixflix and Chill [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053035
Comments: 18
Kudos: 88





	Wixflix and Chill 2: Back for Good

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, endless thanks to the amazing [LikeLightInGlass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likelightinglass/pseuds/Likelightinglass). I may end up owing her my firstborn if she keeps supporting me like that.

Severus arrives a little early at the coffee shop, stopping briefly in front of the glass door to check his reflection for any traces of wizard attire. Satisfied, he goes on. He does not care about his appearance in terms of fashion. The jeans he is wearing are so old, their cut so old-fashioned, Harry used to jokingly call them his "dad jeans". He bought them with his first Hogwarts salary, making them almost as old as Harry is and the term "dad jeans" uncomfortably accurate.

Being early so he can scope out the place and choose a good seat is in Severus' nature, but as he pushes the glass door open to a jarringly happy jingling, he notices Harry has already arrived.

He is occupying exactly the spot Severus would have chosen, in the corner with a good view of both the large glass windows and the door, not that he is making use of his advantage. He is slumped in the chair, the hood of his sweatshirt drawn over his head, chin resting on his hand and eyes closed. With his tousled hair and the pale skin of his neck disappearing into the rough fabric of his sweatshirt, he looks younger and more delicate than Severus has seen him in a long time. 

It has been a surprise to have Harry approach him at the Ministry fundraiser and even more of a surprise to find himself with an arm full of him at Grimmauld place. In the meantime, Severus' research has yielded that, for young people, "coffee" never actually means "coffee" in that context—not that he is complaining at the outcome. But Severus has no interest in meaningless sex with Harry, so the young man will have to make a choice as to what it is he wants.

Harry's chair seems to be the more comfortable one too. Severus turns up his nose and strides over to him. 

"Good morning," he says when he is close enough, making Harry's eyes snap open.

"Severus, hi," Harry jumps up, grabs and squeezes Severus' hand, then sits down again, leg restlessly bouncing up and down. He gestures to the other chair, then hides a yawn behind his hand. The circles around his eyes indicate a night shift, or maybe his dreams acting up again. Severus wonders who Harry would go to if he had problems sleeping and decides Harry is not in danger of visiting Bark and Barley's sorry excuse for an apothecary. Granger is meddlesome enough to direct Harry to approximately four better sources for sleeping aids—or mention the need for potions in passing when she's meeting Severus.

Severus takes the chair and drags it towards Harry so they are sitting at an almost 90-degree angle to each other, both overlooking the room.

Next to him, Harry's hand twitches nervously. Instead of running it through his hair, he bends forward and slides the menu towards Severus, already open on the page for coffee specialities. Severus chooses quickly. Before he can ask about ordering, a young girl in a dark red apron comes and greets them. She arranges the menu and the little vase on the table to her liking, nods at their orders and gives Harry a quirky smile before taking off again. Severus represses a sigh. Harry has that effect on people.

Harry yawns again. 

"Sorry, long night." 

He doesn't offer more information and Severus doesn't pry. He doesn't start the conversation either, aware of the need to talk about what happened but reluctant to warm up old arguments.

"It's good to see you."

Severus raises his eyebrows. "It has barely been two days."

Harry's expression is challenging. "I know, I just like to see you."

Severus doesn't argue the point, even though he has several scathing remarks on the tip of his tongue.

"Well, let's talk. I need to be back at half past ten at the latest."

Harry nods and takes a look at his wristwatch. 

"What are you brewing?"

"Mother's Brew. A variant of nutrient potion."

"Dandelion root, ginger root, Occamy egg yolk and Puffskein hair, along with about five modification agents, low heat, simmer for an hour to finish," Harry rattles off. 

Severus nods, finding no fault with his listing, even though Harry doesn't know his own tweaks to the potion, of course. It seems Auror training has provided the incentive for learning Harry always lacked in Potions class. The implication that Severus wasn't engaging enough as a teacher should be insulting, but he is simply glad Harry has acquired some basic knowledge he can put to use when in need.

"So, I've been thinking," Harry says after a pause, rubbing his thumb over a spot on his jeans, "I've missed you, a lot."

Severus sighs. He knows he is here for exactly this, but he despises conversations about feelings. There is only so long he can go without losing his temper and ruining everything.

"And not because I've been lonely in general. I've got friends and family."

_And lines of admirers queuing for their turn to woo the Saviour,_ Severus thinks. 

Heaven knows Harry is not hard up for potential partners. Severus' own choices are far more limited, but even he knows where to go to find willing bodies. He tried and succeeded in finding some, too, after their break-up. But like the sentimental fool he is, he compared the three quick affairs he had (one of which didn't even make it out of the bar toilet) to his relationship with Harry, which made him end things quickly. Loath as he is to admit it, there is something special between them.

The girl returns and sets his coffee and Harry's hot chocolate down between then. 

"I still—I mean, we were good together, don't even try to deny it. And I think, with a bit of effort, we could be again," Harry goes on when she has left the table. He looks determined. "I want to make it work. So, I guess I'm asking whether you'd consider trying again."

Harry takes the biscuit he received with his hot chocolate and proceeds to break it into little crumbs. Severus supposes he's got to say something sometime now.

"I am here, am I not?" he asks, trying to keep the irony down to a minimum. "But if your reasoning why the second attempt should work when the first failed so spectacularly is not more substantial than missing me, I'm afraid I am not convinced the result is worth the effort."

Harry is clutching his mug like a lifeline.

"Did you miss me at all?" he asks quietly, expression showing openly he's disheartened by Severus' words. Well, he should be used to Severus not sugar coating his opinions.

"What do you think?" he asks, irritated by the way Harry's sadness moves him.

Surprisingly, this makes Harry perk up again.

"It's stupid we didn't talk for so long," he muses, as if the silence had nothing to do with him.

"You only needed to Owl or Floo," Severus snaps, even though he wasn't surprised that Harry didn't, then. He knew the time had come for separation when he saw the way Harry's pretty little Auror colleagues fluttered about him the one time Severus agreed to come for a drink with them—and the way Harry did nothing to discourage them. It was more than clear that the novelty of their relationship had been outlived by routine and convenience. Severus spared himself the indignity of being asked to leave or of Harry entertaining a relationship he didn't want any more out of a misguided sense of duty.

"Obviously, you didn't think it was worth it then," Severus adds.

"That is so unfair," Harry argues, pushing his hot chocolate away from him. "It had nothing to do with being worth anything. You left! And I am not the only one who could have Flooed or Owled, am I?"

"I am sure you were very busy saving the world again and couldn't spare any time trying to get in touch."

Harry's mouth turns up in a grim smile.

"Going back to the old Boy-Who-Lived insults? Nice. Guess what, I don't care, I just want to have one fucking serious, grown up discussion about this."

As if Severus were the one not mature enough to have a normal conversation—the cheek! 

"Well, if you don't care, I guess we are finished already."

Severus reaches into his pocket, slides a Muggle bank note underneath his cup and is heading for the door before Harry can close his mouth. Of course Severus did not misunderstand what Harry meant, poor as the choice of wording was, but he is done listening to his purported mistakes and has enough experience with things turning to shit to recognise a lost cause. Like last time, Harry is making no move to hold him back. With ringing ears, he jerks the door open, angry at himself for thinking anything could have changed.

He throws on a robe and returns to his brewing immediately, chopping ginger root, the only ingredient that needs to be added in the next hour. The pieces are a little less evenly cut and a little more frayed at the edges than usually and, furious, he banishes them and starts again.

After exactly one hour and ten minutes, a few minutes after he has added the ginger, a little knock on the door of the shop pulls him out of his concentration and he notices he has been staring blankly at the cauldron.

Even though he doesn't want to admit it—not even to himself—, the sound makes his heart jump a little. Did he misjudge Harry after all? Is he willing to make an effort for Severus and go after him? 

A second rap on the door, sharper this time, and a shrill voice shake him out of his fantasy. 

"Mr Snape," the landlady, Hayfield, calls out and Severus imagines a flock of pigeons fluttering away at her dulcet tones. 

While he has not actually murdered the annoying woman yet, he has imagined exactly thirty-five ways to do so and he supposes there are more to come. He only holds his tongue with her because he is dependent on the lease of the shop and the flat attached to it, as long as he hasn't been cleared by the Wizengamot and allowed to legally own a business again.

"Mr Sna-hape," Hayfield calls out again. 

Sighing, he taps his wand against the cauldron to cool it and goes to open the door a fraction. 

"There you are, I thought I saw you," she says, turning her mouth up in a grimace of a smile.

"Yes?"

"Mr Snape, do you agree that today is the last day of the month?" she asks snidely. 

She knows pretty well it is not a matter of opinion, it is the last day of the month and so his lease for the next is due, but his clients pay after delivery and he was still a few Galleons short yesterday. He could have paid in the morning before leaving, but he didn't think of it.

"Just a moment," Severus says politely and shuts the door in her face with a satisfying _snap_. When he returns with the Galleons, she is tapping her foot impatiently. 

Number thirty-six: cursing her heels to make her dance until she starts to smoke and burn. A fitting end for a witch.

He thrusts the bag into her hands and turns back into the shop when the door is pulled open again from the outside.

"Sorry, morning, Ms Hayfield," Harry says, charming as ever, slips in beside Severus and closes the door behind him before Severus can protest. 

He gives Severus a shove, half angry, half playful, that breaks the tension between them and within seconds, the following tussle turns into a hard hug. Severus' chest hurts, insides twisting, not from Harry's grip but from the feelings leaking through the lid he put on the whole thing months ago. 

"Bastard," Harry mumbles against his neck. "You know I can't stand you hating me."

He's still a bit shorter than Severus which promotes the illusion that he is the weaker one of them, the one who needs to be protected, when he really is the most powerful wizard Severus knows.

"Idiot," Severus tells the untameable mop of hair, "I don't hate you."

He is not lying. Even right after their break-up, he was hurt and angry, but he never hated him. After fuming for a day, Severus grudgingly opened his Floo again to Harry's again—not because he was hoping Harry would call or come over to make up ( _liar, liar, robes on fire_ ), but in case he needed Severus' protection. His whole life, Severus has been watching out for the wretched boy and he does not love him so little that a break-up is going to change that.

When Harry pulls away, he turns his head to the side and lifts his sleeve, wiping at his eyes.

"So," he says, "can I bother you for some tea?"

*

Harry is sitting on the stool he used to occupy all the time when Severus was brewing. Feet dangling, he is listening avidly to Severus explaining the changes he has made to the nutrient potion and watching him execute them. Potions are as neutral a topic as the two of them can find and Severus is relieved by the temporary moratorium of relationship talk. Harry seems to feel the same, avoiding the topic and quizzing him about the brewing process.

When Severus is almost done, Harry's stomach gives a growl worthy of a hungry werewolf. Severus notices he has forgotten the time again, concentrated on his cauldron.

He contemplates having lunch with Harry, but he doesn't want to go out and he doesn't eat where he is brewing. If Harry joined him for lunch, it would have to be in his one-room flat, right next to his bed and he isn't sure he trusts himself. He isn't sure he wants to trust himself, either.

"Sorry," Harry says sheepishly. He stands, hands in his pockets, preparing to make his leave and looking a little melancholic again. It falls to Severus to decide where this day is going.

"Well, I have to bottle and send the potion," he says, watching Harry nod in understanding. Without consciously making a decision, he hears himself continue. "However,... if you do not have any prior engagements, we could have lunch together afterwards."

Harry's wistful smile turns genuine. "Shall I get something? Italian?"

"The tagliatelle with mushrooms and seafood, if you would," Severus answers, like so often before.

Harry shrugs on his jacket and steps closer, giving Severus a peck on the lips that he allows, surprised by the familiar action. Harry clearing his throat afterwards informs him that he didn't take that liberty intentionally either but fell into the old routine. Severus' lips tingle and he barely refrains from touching them with his fingers. He notices that the tension between them doesn't feel completely unpleasant, reminding him of the time before they got together (careful glances across the infirmary after the battle and later, more deliberate ones across a pub table).

Severus deftly bottles the potions, sends the owl on its first journey and goes upstairs to clean and air the room. 

When Harry returns with a large plastic bag, the table is freed from clothes, Potions magazines and tea-stained mugs. He starts to unpack while Severus brings cutlery. 

The glasses give Severus pause—they used to share a bottle of wine with Italian but even though the veltliner in the cooling cabinet would accompany the meal nicely, he isn't comfortable drinking with Harry today. He reaches for water glasses instead and if Harry notices, he doesn't comment.

They eat, first in comfortable silence, then start with chit-chat again. The food is great and deserves more attention than Severus is able to give it, wondering how the hell they are supposed to go on.

When they are both finished, they do a little dance about whether Harry is allowed to do the dishes—non-magically, since Severus prefers to be able to use them for potions, if he is in need—and Harry wins and takes his time washing up while Severus unnecessarily dries them (they'll dry on their own, but he can't very well sit while his guest is cleaning up, can he?). 

Deep in thought, Severus easily steps out of the way when Harry reaches around him for the dirty cutlery. It takes another, blatant try for him to realise Harry does not want him to move away at all. 

Wet hands close around Severus, reaching for the plates, and Harry is snug against his front, looking up through his lashes.

"Pardon," he says, not sorry at all, and moves back to the sink, plates in hand. 

Severus rolls his eyes, but doesn't quite manage a scowl. It's not that he doesn't want Harry close, but if they postpone their talk again, they might never have it.

“Quit that,” he says, catching Harry’s hands and pulling him away from the sink, heedless of the soap bubbles dripping to the floor. 

“They’ll soak,” he says firmly when Harry starts to protest that he’s not done. 

He leads Harry back to the table and sits him down. Maybe jumping head first into the conversation is the way to go.

“What’s going to be different now?”

His words are harsher than he intended, but Harry seems to recognise his effort for what it is.

“I came after you this time, didn’t I? I had no idea you wanted me to, before.” He snags the tea towel and starts to dry his fingers. “You can’t expect me to just know what you want me to do!”

It should have been an automatic response to go after the one you love, Severus thinks, but stops himself from commenting. He has rationalised their break-up enough to know that thoughts like that stem more from weakness on his own part than misbehaviour on Harry's, if he is honest with himself.

"You knew from the start that I am irritable and uncommunicative, I daresay I did not try to mislead you there."

Harry leans back and sets the towel down. "Well, that doesn't mean it would kill you to open your mouth for once."

"Like you did?" Severus snaps, then stands and puts the kettle on to justify turning away for a minute. The look he catches from Harry when he rises seems puzzled.

"I thought I had," he says. 

Severus puts the teapot and the washed cups onto the table and sits again.

"All right, I'll go first," Harry says. "I need you to trust me. I know some people are still big on the saviour thing and I know the PE classes don't hurt the other rookies' looks, but I'm not interested in any of them."

Of course Harry's wishes would be homing in on his own insecurities like bloodhounds. 

"That is a large request," Severus says after a while.

"It's a deal breaker if you can't," Harry answers firmly. "I want to try again, but I can't spend my time worrying about how to behave to keep you from suspecting me of running off with the next best person."

Severus is surprised. He didn't expect Harry to be so matter-of-fact about it, nor their talk to turn to exchanging ultimata so soon, but he prefers the businesslike conversation to soppy displays of emotion. And even though he resents being put under pressure like this, he can't find fault with Harry's request—demand—phrased like this.

"On the condition that you swear to tell me when you _are_ attracted to somebody else," he replies.

Harry's forehead crinkles and he starts to worry his bottom lip.

"An Unbreakable Vow?"

"Don't be stupid," Severus says. The boy still has no sense of self-preservation. "I expected you to keep your word based on honour. I was of the opinion that would suffice?"

The crinkles smooth out. 

"Sure, yeah! Alright then. What do you need to change?" 

Severus is at a loss for words. It's so typical for Harry to approach things from his carefree, Gryffindor angle, trusting that everything will work out, and, frustratingly, it usually does. Can it be as easy as naming what he wants?

"I…" 

He really doesn't know. Having Harry all to himself and being sure of his faithfulness is the most important thing—the only thing essential—to him. 

"I will not tolerate you accepting invitations in my stead or otherwise scheduling my time," he answers, mainly to have something to say. In truth, he thinks they have set enough changes in motion to try and see how their relationship will be different, this time around.

Harry nods and pours the tea.

"I will schedule my time with friends and family as I see fit," he says, then amends, "mindful of our time together."

"You always did, before," Severus mutters, taking a sip of tea.

Harry gives him a mildly annoyed look.

"Anything else on your part?"

"I'm good," Severus says tartly.

"Good," Harry answers in kind. "Glad we had that talk."

Severus nods sharply.

The air is sizzling with tension between them. Severus is tempted to either throw Harry out or throw him on the bed. 

"Oh, fuck you," Harry says and jumps up. Severus mirrors him in reflex. The teapot slides to the side with the force of their movements, dancing dangerously close to the edge of the table, but neither of them cares enough to save it.

"One of these days, you'll cut someone with that tongue."

Severus licks his lips. He notices Harry's eyes follow his tongue and raises an eyebrow. 

"Would you have me change?"

This time, the armful of Harry is more predictable, as are the lips on his own and the tongue, seeking for his. Severus returns the hard kiss with fervour. It feels even better now that they are on the same page about where this is headed, without reservations, and he makes ample use of the opportunity. When Harry starts to try and get into his clothes, he pushes him away again to lose his robe and shirt. 

"Do you—" Harry breathes and Severus cuts him off with a definite _yes_. Yes, he wants.

Harry's eyes dance with fire as he pulls off his own sweatshirt and the T-shirt underneath in one fell swoop. The muscles on his stomach ripple nicely when he stretches and Severus is on him again in a flash, letting his hands run possessively over the smooth expanse of skin, then dip down to the dust of hair disappearing into Harry's dark jeans. 

Harry distracts him with a kiss while opening the buttons on his shirt and pushing it off, so he can slide his hands along Severus' shoulders and arms. His fascination with Severus' biceps is more than a little flattering and spurs Severus on to lock his hands underneath the little Gryffindor beast's arse to lift him and carry him the rest of the way to the bed. 

Severus dumps him on the mattress and watches as Harry wriggles out of the rest of his clothes, leans back on his elbows and unselfconsciously lets his legs fall open. He makes a mesmerizing picture too, spread out in the warm afternoon light that is falling through the tinted window. Severus remembers his own clothes and slowly pops the button of his jeans open, drawing Harry's eyes down. He is impatient by now, more than ready for Severus to join him and Severus, fond of teasing him, draws the motion of undressing out, slowly sliding the denim past his hips. 

When Harry's patience has run out and he makes a move as if to touch himself, Severus slaps his hand away. 

"No."

"What?" Stunned, Harry is still for a moment, then retaliates by trying to pull Severus down to him but only succeeds in getting pinned to the bed, breathing hard. Severus always wins their tussles because Harry trains with the proper prats at Auror Academy instead of the riff raff on the streets of Cokeworth Severus grew up with. Also, he has a feeling Harry wants him to win, wants to be held down and ravished. 

His caresses on Harry's neck are half bite, half lick and make Harry raise his hips and rub against Severus'. Severus puts his back into weighing him down, every part of his body adjoining Harry's somewhere, and kisses him deeply until he is behaving and relaxes. Only then does he roll off him for a moment to finally get rid of his own jeans and pants. 

"I wouldn't," Harry murmurs, running his hands up Severus' thighs and over his cock, giving it a good stroke. Severus assumes Harry takes the discussion they had as blanket permission to have at him as he shows none of the restraint and hesitation he displayed two days before.

"Want you to change, I mean," Harry adds, then hooks a leg over Severus' hip to get him closer to where he wants him.

Severus hums and reaches behind him for the lube, but Harry pulls him back. 

"I used the spell," he says, cheeks turning a little pink. 

He pulls Severus on top of him until he's nudging at his entrance. Tempted but wary, Severus draws back, despite Harry's muttered objections. Severus knows a lubrication spell Harry can do wandless, but none for stretching and if he doesn't, there likely isn't one. He runs his index finger over the slick opening, then pushes inside. Harry is still far too tight to take much more, so he keeps slowly fucking him with two fingers, bending and twisting them and watching the effect on Harry's expression and the way his legs stretch and tremble. There are no more protests, only moans and gasps and, relaxed as Harry is, it doesn't take him long to accommodate three fingers moving in and out with ease.

_Now_ he is ready. Satisfied, Severus slides between Harry's legs and kisses him dizzy again, bending one of Harry's legs to line himself up.

"Yes, please," Harry murmurs, pressing down against him. "Now."

Severus slides inside him with little effort, relishing the feeling of Harry, warm and tight around him. It's hard to stay still and let him adjust, so when Severus' hips do twitch forward and Harry's expression shows no signs of discomfort, Severus starts moving in slow, deep thrusts that rock the bed. Their eyes lock at the noise it makes, both thinking of Ms Hayfield, who will hear and be scandalised at the thought of their gay, cross-generational copulation in broad daylight, and they share a mischievous grin. Severus repeats the motion sharply, just to spite the witch and get the bed to creak again, but forgets all about that when Harry groans and lifts an arm to the headboard to brace himself against the thrusts. 

"Fuck, yes, more… right there," Harry says, breathless, twisting and pushing himself down to meet Severus halfway.

They move together in a perfect rhythm, the air between them hot and heavy and infused with the scent of sweat, musk and Harry's soap. 

Before long, Harry catches his eye and lifts his face up to kiss him again while sneaking one hand between them to stroke his cock. They kiss deeply, wetly, tongues sliding alongside each other and satisfying some primal need inside Severus.

A few more thrusts and Harry is moaning into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut, and Severus feels spurts of his come against his stomach. When Harry sinks back onto the bed, smiling, boneless and pliable, Severus bends his legs farther back and picks up speed until he can't hold back anymore either. He pulls out just in time to come onto the mess Harry has already made of his own stomach.

Harry stretches like a cat and shifts a little to the side to make room for Severus. He falls down beside him, light-headed and out of breath. A hand searches for Severus' and he takes it in his and presses a kiss to it.

The tension of the last months has fallen from him. In his relaxation, he feels the lid shift again and for one precarious, mortifying moment, he isn't sure whether he can hold back the wave of emotions threatening to burst forth or the sob that's being swept along, but he hasn't been a spy for nothing. He throws his Occlumency shields up and they help him to keep quiet while the moment passes. When Harry turns towards him and gives him an innocent smile, he has forced the lid back on so tightly, his own smile is genuine.

His thirst makes him get up and fetch some water as well as a warm, wet washcloth to clean the mess that's left on Harry after a sloppy Evanesco. Harry is pretty clean already, but he loves to have Severus care for him, so he does and reaps the reward in the form of a gentle kiss.

"Can I stay for a bit?" Harry asks, already burrowing under the blanket and peeking out cheekily while hooking one leg around Severus'.

"Just a bit," Severus agrees with false gravity and snags a corner of the blanket. He rather hopes Harry is back for good.

**Author's Note:**

> This author loves feedback of all kind!


End file.
